Game Night: He's Our Dad
by OTHxx
Summary: It's all in the title...Luke and Nate, the rest of the Tree Hill Gang. How can you resist?
1. Come Out After Dark

Okie, poor attempt, I know, but I make up in enthusiasm what I lack in talent! Go, Ravens!  
  
To: Equilibrium Soundtrack  
  
-ONE-   
  
Dead silent.  
  
The trees whispering in frightened undertones...the clashing of naked branches.  
  
Damp grass springing underfoot. Crushed flowers, careless footprints. Fingers gripping the faded windowsill...peering inside. Trying to see.  
  
Spiral downwards. Peaceful bedroom, soft shadows cast by the faint moonlight...partially raised screen, the plaintive chirping of night insects...flashing , brown backed cicadas and blinking fireflies. One was gripping the screen, "zeeping" repeatedly.  
  
A clock ticked from somewhere inside the house. The bathroom faucet dripped.  
  
School clothes spread innocently over the chairback. Scattered library books, cracked, dusty bindings lying face up staring... motionless.  
  
  
  
Rough hands bumped the window. Sharp intake of breath...the fly scittered away in alarm.   
  
Deeply asleep. Subconscious immersed in an alternate univerese...peaceful dream...light hair bleeding over the stark white pillow. Resting. Oblivious. Mouth gently curved, fingers splayed across the bed sheets...  
  
  
  
Entering the house. One leg, then another, landing softly on the worn carpet. Hesitation...the curtains caught an errant breeze, billowed out, reaching for the unconscious figure, a silent warning...  
  
  
  
The intruder leaned in close, gloved hands inspecting a discarded wallet. Flipping through it, pushing the small bills to the back in disdain. Pause-found something. Slipped it away, in a pocket; replaced the possession and gently repositioned one limp hand, retrieving the notebook underneath.  
  
  
  
A closet door squeaked protestingly. Prone figure shifted, restless, settled back down.  
  
Plastic hangers rattled a low key rhythm, accompanied by the dark figure's rapid heartbeat. Barely inaudible laugh-an old, soft bodied stuffed animal landed beside the notebook and assorted clothes. Several pairs of old shoes were chosen next.  
  
  
  
The stealthy visitor edged toward the gaping window, dark sack full. It rustled as it hit the soft dirt outside; heavy boots smeared the well kept flowers into the soft dirt. Hurried down the street. Away. Muted laughter floated back...  
  
  
  
Cold...Lucas disentangled himself from the light sheets, blinking sleepily...he must have left a window open. Funny, he hadn't remembered feeling warm last night..stayed up too late. Exams. Papers to write...he fell back onto the mattress, buried his face and tried to recapture the pleasant memories lingering just out of reach...  
  
Couldn't sleep. Lie awake, thinking of his new teammates. Ravens. He, Lucas, a part of the much avoided band of heroes following their champion, Nathan Scott about the court. Having girls like Peyton Saywer cheering him on...  
  
Hoped it wouldn't force him and Haley apart. She was as much a part of his family as his mom...  
  
  
  
Tomorrow would be the day. His first game with the guys. Caught himself staring at the deep sapphire material spread on the dresser. His own uniform. Of sorts. His own number, the name "Scott" displayed across the back, for all the world to see.  
  
  
  
He tossed, now wide awake, the last vestiges of rest eluding him...pillowed his head in his arms, traced the pattern of light seeping in from the crack under his door. He was entering His world. Dan Scott's. And he was scared.  
  
Finally figuring a shower might relax him, Lucas stepped into the bathroom without turning on the lights. He didn't want to awaken his mom...  
  
Cold tiles, hot needles of water prickling his sweaty skin...took deep breathes. He could do this. He could face his father. Block out any emotions, save anger and a cool indifference he knew would be singuarly frustrating...tamped the pain back inside, practiced the mask of calm uncaring...  
  
A face for his Dad, for his half brother.  
  
Was the whole world this messed up?  
  
  
  
Abruptly, he savagely twisted the faucet off and leaned his head against the wall.  
  
  
  
Lucas shook his damp hair back, jaw rigid as he stared at himself in the steamy mirror.  
  
Blue eyes. Hard, hurt. Tousled light hair...a firm chin...no, he didn't look much like Dan. Thank God for small favors. All Tree Hill needed to make him even more of an outcast was to see a picture perfect miniature of Dan Scott sitting in Karen's shopping cart.  
  
Would his Dad even care about seeing him? Lucas gathered what his father's impression of him was, judging by Nathan's open, brotherly personality. Granted, it stung. But he was determined to show Dan Scott that he was wrong. He wanted to prove to him, show him what a poor choicce he made, abandoning Karen, choosing Nathan over Lucas. Leaving one son behind, interfering with the other's mind till he had a Danny Boy clone with a rabid personality and a sincerely unhappy demeanor.  
  
What a Dad.  
  
He clenched the tube of toothpaste so hard it hurt. Pressed all the pain, the rejection and frustrations back, like a good athlete. Almost time to go.  
  
Face the music.}  
  
Well, let me know if I should scrap it or keep on going. And if you read this far, thanks for just sticking with me. 


	2. Wish You Knew I Existed

Thankyou all VERY much for the reviews, I really appreciate them. YOu read the whole chapter? What a brave bunch of people! LOL  
  
-TWO-  
  
Still dark.  
  
Lucas padded into his bedroom, eased the door shut then fell against it with an indrawn sigh. It had been some time since he'd come face to face with his father. He felt shaky, a strange mixture of anger and yearning that left him drained.  
  
Ran his hands over the basketball poster, pressing one curly eared corner down, force of habit. Luke had tacked it just under the door-frame when he was about six or seven. That was when he still cared.  
  
The air was cool, but he felt warm. Damp strands of drying hair clung to his face, he brushed at them, impatient.  
  
Winking lights glowed an eerie red ; there was still time yet. Thumbed his alarm clock's "off" button.  
  
He must be unconsciously counting the minutes 'till game time.  
  
"What's wrong with me?"  
  
Half yell, half desperation.  
  
"Oh, God. I don't want to do this."  
  
Be in the spotlight.  
  
Dan' Scott's bastard son.  
  
And people would talk. Point to Karen.  
  
She must be as nervous as he.  
  
A floorboard creaked from somewhere within the house. The lulling tick-tock of the kitchen clock had changed to a stark staccato.  
  
Lucas ducked his head, jaw out-thrust.   
  
If he had to go down, it was going to be fighting.  
  
Which-considering the team's treatment of him the past few days-was entirely credible. His brother wanted him to fail. The thought his father might, too, was far from reassuring.  
  
Lucas reached into the backless confines of his dark closet and froze. Rows of empty hangers, swaying gently. He groped blindly, knocking half of them onto his shoes...wait...kneeling on the cold floor, no sneakers. Nothing.  
  
The fanning anger inside of him sent a welcome rush of heat throughout his body.  
  
Flipped the light switch on, eyes hard in their sweeping perusal.  
  
The window had been ajar.  
  
No way, it was-too far. The rage melted into uneasiness.  
  
Scott or not, the Ravens wouldn't do this. Breaking into his home and...  
  
Lucas scooped up a bat from the baseball paraphernalia on his closet shelf and quietly slipped into the hallway.  
  
All seemed peaceful.  
  
Fast fading moonlight glinted on plates stacked alongside the sink. A cafe scent, spicy cookie smell mingled with lemon detergent.  
  
Eased himself along the wall, hugging it's familiar curves.  
  
Lucas peered around the corner...Karen's room. Blankets rising and falling slowly; mosquito whining against the pane. He smothered a low murmur of relief. All the locks were still turned.  
  
The petty thief had taken much more than his clothes, however.  
  
All of Lucas' notebooks were gone, including sundry items he probably wouldn't miss until later...clothes, shoes, a text book...Mr. Flopsy, Hailey's battered-eared bunnie she was in the process of re-stuffing when they had a rainy day...  
  
The kind of junk a person would miss, but wouldn't necessarily interest officers of the law.  
  
Armed with a flashlight, Lucas picked his way through the dew wet grass toward his low window.  
  
Heavy footprints. One set, coming and going. If there were any tell tale size or brand names, they had been scuffed out.  
  
"Dang!"  
  
Karen's prideful array of flowers, stems twisted and bleeding. He tried to fix them up, brushing ineffectually at the clumps of clinging dirt  
  
Clenched his fists in useless frustration.   
  
It was chilly out here, without a shirt on. Early spring mud oozed between his toes. Lucas remembered that he was only half dressed.  
  
Served him right. This is what happened, putting his own notions of glory ahead of his mom's simple request for peace.  
  
It was his fault. It wasn't right to wish so much for something. As if Dan had ever cared.}  
  
I know it's moving rather slow, but I promise to have the Lucas/Dan confrontation next chapter...and, of course, Nathan. And our girl Hails.  
  
  
  
  
  
:b ;) :D 


	3. Let Them Come

I apologize for the late update and for the out of context chapter, but I promise to get back into "typical" stride next time. It just feels weird because I had to move things along a little faster and I'm not very good at that.  
  
Thanks very much to all the kind reviewers ( :  
  
I would write for one, but it's nice to have a crowd. Thank you a lot  
  
-THREE-  
  
Lucas' heart was pounding so hard, surely everyone could hear it... difficult to breathe, he wet his lips for the thousandth time and shook a few strands of wet hair from his forehead.  
  
Slo-mo. Slow motion-ah, the beauty and terror of it.  
  
Nathan was in his element, the home crowd's roars surged, almost silent swish of perfect basket.  
  
Whereas his brother seemed to ride the waves of sound, even rose to meet the attention with spectacular ease, Lucas flinched from the noise, the smell, the feel of thousands of eyes all intent upon him. Whitey said Lucas would learn to love this...it was intoxicating.  
  
For the dozenth time he stole a glance toward the stands, hoping to spy Karen. Along with the nervous tingle in his body was the sharp pang of betrayal. She hadn't come.  
  
He fumbled, almost tripped. One of the players had jostled him. Lucas swept his blue gaze out wards-knew it was a purposeful maneuver to unnerve him.  
  
Almost laughed hysterically. "No need to try that, fellas, I can do that to myself, thank you very much..."  
  
The ball, in his hands. Cool, inanimate. His chance. His shot...  
  
Time...slipping toward eternity...silence  
  
Coach Whitey slapping him on the shoulder, hard. Avoiding any scenery but the scuffed floor...  
  
The breeze stirred stray leaves, red sunlight sparkling through the trees...discarded wrappers and empty pop cans. Reality.  
  
Lucas slumped against a trunk, the rough bark earthy and reassuring. Closed his eyes. Felt the nausea fade.  
  
He had to go to school tomorrow. He had to go home and deal with Karen's not-quite-direct stare. The things missing from his room. The team's dislike. The look on his father's face. Not cool, nor smug, nor mean. A nod and tight lipped smile that Lucas read as intended.  
  
Like he'd lived up perfectly to Dan's expectations. Zero. Zero was what he was. At least-it was where he was at.  
  
How did one move up from zero?  
  
It helped to walk. Clear his mind.  
  
Lucas let his head fall back, allowing the cool breeze play over his features. Ignored the slow moving cars. Just forget about him. Maybe he'd go back to his world and never step into that gym again. Let them have their game, Ravens whatever.  
  
"Crap." Kicked out. What was wrong with this world. Needed Haley. Needed his mom-wry smile. Needed a Dad, was what.  
  
Lucas turned off, headed for the place where he could be himself and it was good enough.  
  
Stepped right in front of someone. The protesting screech of tires, a firm stop. Lucas had to raise his eyes from the sidewalk; no Peyton, wide eyed and indignant.  
  
"Get off the road!"  
  
Lucas involuntarily stepped back and stumbled against the curb. He caught himself and jerked his head away, fists clenched in sweatshirt pockets.  
  
"You know, Scott, it's pretty obvious you can't handle your game, but crossing the street?"  
  
Lucas started walking the way he had come, there was no peace to be found. Anywhere. Might as well go home.  
  
school   
  
Maybe someday in time things will go my way...  
  
Trapped inside this body, these silly fears so small...trapped inside this room, trying to look indifferent, really all unrest...how come she looks she calm? Why is he so full of himself? How can I deal with all this...how should I?  
  
Coy smiling girl in the corner...  
  
Overconfident athletes...  
  
Self-labeled blond brooder, center back...time, ticking away the seconds, underlying it all.  
  
Lucas pushed his pen into the desk, pent up sigh evaporating like the half baked puddles outside his school.  
  
Say it's not forever...  
  
Maybe he'd outgrow this.  
  
Or not.  
  
Crowded halls, sun dappled sidewalks...summer heated asphalt, the smell of fresh mown grass and sticky tar.  
  
Lucas weaved through the knots of students, intent on the headphones he adjusted almost relievedly over his head...a clear, safe signal. Let me be.  
  
Maybe he avoided friendships this way. Missed the bright hub of popularity...a lie to say he didn't care, but the loss was far less than the gain.  
  
He didn't feel rejection, he wasn't embarrassed; his actions showed the world he accepted the loner's path, it was his choice, Lucas Scott was fine.  
  
Or not.  
  
The tall blond cast one last glance behind his shoulder, hoped Whitey would understand, his skipping out of basketball practice. Lucas mentally caught himself. He wasn't skipping-he was quitting.  
  
Uh. Decidedly unpleasant word, especially when applied to one's self. Lucas Scott was through.  
  
"You coming to the party tonight?" Haley, leaning in, lips almost touching his ear.  
  
"Party?"  
  
"Ya, the under dogs are hosting, everyone's going."  
  
Lucas looked genuinely confused. "Sorry, Hales...I didn't get an invite."  
  
"Luke, it's us. I mean, the lesser peoples of Tree Hill High. You must have forgotten."  
  
Lucas smiled, Haley's maternal instincts were in overdrive.  
  
"Hales, I didn't hear about it. I'm just going to hang out by myself tonight."  
  
"Well, if you're not coming-"  
  
"Then you'll still have a great time."  
  
"Why is he always doing that?"  
  
Lucas followed Haley's frown, that peculiar little pucker of the forehead he found absolutely girly and met Nathan Scott's gaze.  
  
"Hales?"  
  
"Wait a minute, Luke, I didn't mean to cause any trouble-"  
  
His tone had dropped an octave. "There is trouble. You haven't caused anything."  
  
She assumed a meek face as he turned back to her.  
  
"How long has he been eyeing you like that?"  
  
Uncomfortable. Haley crossed her arms, scuffed the toe of her sneaker around and around.  
  
"Just this week."  
  
"All the time, Hales?"  
  
"Well, yes, but maybe he was just staring to stare-I mean, Nathan probably looks at all the girls, Luke, we know what he's like-"  
  
"Yeah, we sure do." Lucas slung his arm around Haley's shoulders, half protective, half making Haley feel like she was a bone being guarded.  
  
"Is he coming to this party tonight?"  
  
"All the guys are going. You know how wild the beach things can get."  
  
"When do you want me to pick you up?"  
  
Neither Scott broke eye contact.  
  
Haley suppressed a twinge of uncertainty.  
  
Call out the dogs of war. 


End file.
